Welcome to my blog. Here you'll find a diverse assortment of characters from all my stories. You'll meet brooding vampires, love-stricken ghosts, mystical guardians, deceptive demons, honor-bound lycans, sexy selkies, devilish aliens, brawny barbarians, as well as a few good old fashioned cowboys. So I invite you to grab a cup of something pipin' hot, pull up a chair, and get lost in my vivid imagination.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

It's that time again...Valentine's Day. The day of Love, Laughter, and Life. Thanks so much for making a stop on my blog during the Swept Away Blog Hop.

I hope your journey thus far has been exciting and full of passion and romance. I'd love to add a little bit of romance to your life as well so I'm hosting a couple of giveaways.

First, for anyone who buys one of my books during the blog hop (14th-17th), send me a copy of your invoice and I'll put you in a drawing for a free book of your choice from my backlog. Please send it to my email address: author_shannon_leigh@hotmail.com

Be sure to put "Valentine's Day Hop Contest #1" in the subject.

Second, I have a pair of lovely, handmade wine charms that are sure to add a romantic flair to your wine glasses. These can be added to any type of glass with a narrow step (wine, martini, champagne, etc.). To win these, all you have to do is tell which of my books you've either read or would like to read. If you've read one, tell me what you liked about it/disliked about it. If there's one you'd like to read, tell me why. What intrigues you about that book?

What do you know about Valentine's Day?
I've never thought much about it, other than as a good reason for my husband to buy me something. I did a little research and found some interesting tidbits:

1) St. Valentine's Day began as a celebration of one or more early Christian saints named Valentinus. Saint Valentine was actually imprisioned for performing weddings for soldier forbidden to marry, and for ministering to Christians persecuted under the Roman Empire. He reportedly healed the daughter of his jailer and before he was executed, left her a note and signed it "from your Valentine" as a farewell.

Kind of a grim explanation of Valentine's Day.

2) Several early Christians martyrs were named Valentine. Valentine of Romewas martyred about AD 269 and buried on the Via Flaminia. His flower crowned skull is exhibited in the Basilica of Santa Maria in Cosmedin, Rome. Another saint name Valentine was martyred in Africa, though little is known about him. His head is preserved in the Abbey of New Minster, Winchester, and venerated.

I had no idea what venerated meant--although I must confess, with the morbid history lesson thus far, I expected something unpleasant--so I looked it up and it actually means to honor somebody or something as sacred.

3) The first recorded association of Valentine's Day with love is in Parlement of Foules by Geoffrey Chaucer in 1382. It was written to honor the first anniversary of the engagement of King Richard II of England to Anne of Bohemia, who were married at the age of 15. Though, there's been much speculation that his poem was actually referring to the mating habits of birds.

About time someone added some love in there. Even if it was for the birds!

4) In 1797, a British publisher issued The Young Man's Valentine Writer, which contained suggested verses for young lovers unable to write their own. Printers produced a limited number of cards with verses and sketches, called "mechanical valentines." Future reduced postal rates led to an increased, albeit less personal and sometimes anonymous, mailing of Valentines. This anonymity may be the reason for some rather racy verse during a time that was considerably prudish.

Somehow that seems like cheating.

5) In 1847, Esther Howland produced and sold the first mass-produced valentines of embossed paper lace in the United States. While her father owned and operated a large book and stationary store, she actually got her inspiration from a Valentine she'd received from one of his business associates.

Wonder what her daddy thought about that?

6) Since the 19th century, handwritten notes have evolved into mass-produced greeting cards. The 20th century expanded the idea of giving sentiments to include gifts such as flowers and chocolates. It didn't take long for the jewelry industry (1980's) to jump on the bandwagon and push the idea of giving jewelry on Valentine's Day.

Diamonds are a girl's best friend.

7) The U.S. Greeting Card Association estimates that approximately 190 million Valentines are sent in the US each year. If you include cards made and/or exchanged in school activities, that number goes up to 1 billion.

They say the road to success is a lonely one. Newly named corporate executive of the Chinese American Development Corporation, Ms. Mei Ling Zhao, can attest to this. Hated by her subordinates, her acquired status has truly left her friendless and in need of some male attention. After a long week of dealing with spiteful employees, threatening letters, and one headache after another, she treats herself to a much-needed drink and an order of fast-food—Chinese takeout, via “special delivery.”

While Mei Ling expects her meal to arrive smoking hot and in a timely manner, she doesn’t anticipate her delivery boy to be a tall, tanned Texan with a black Stetson, levis that cling to all the right places, and seafoam eyes that remind her of ocean water pooling on the shore. And yet, when she opens her door, that’s exactly what she finds standing on her stoop.

Seems the Chinatown Buffet is in the business of delivering more than just a tasty meal, and Mei Ling is about to find out what “special delivery” really means…

Excerpt:

Her gaze first met the man’s black, T-shirt clad chest, as he stood nearly a foot taller than she, then slowly traveled upward. The perfect ball of his Adam’s apple caught her attention—she bet he had a deep voice; smooth and rich, like the heart stopping sound of a Franz Werner Virtuoso bass.

“Sorry, but we were fresh out of buffalo,” he said in a low, southern drawl.

Ripples of awareness coursed her veins. Mei Ling’s stare snapped up to his tanned face, instantly meeting a pair of sea-foam green eyes shrouded with chocolate lashes. A velvety smooth, black Stetson balanced perfectly on his head, successfully concealing his hair except for one renegade lock the color of sand that had slipped free to dust his forehead.

A lump caught in her throat. “You’re…” She choked on the word as though she’d swallowed it down the wrong pipe. Politely covering her mouth with the back of her hand, she turned her head to cough.

“You’re late. I called an hour and a half ago.” Although she tried to sound stern, taking a stance with him as though he were one of her subordinates in need of discipline, strangely, her voice sounded husky rather than annoyed.

Seemingly entertained by her haughtiness, his firm, beige lips pulled into an amused smirk. “I tried to call,” he countered. “I got lost on La Salle Street. Ya didn’t answer.”

“I must have been…” Mei Ling quickly changed the subject. “How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching for the white bag in his hand at his waist.

Her gaze fell to the black Levi’s clinging to his trim hips and brawny thighs. She couldn’t help but focus her attention on the sizeable bulge at his groin. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. Where was that bottle of champagne when she needed it? Surely this man did more than make fast-food deliveries. Come to think of it, he seemed completely out of place in Chinatown. With his cowboy hat, worn jeans, and silver-tipped boots, he looked like he’d just arrived from—

“That’s a first,” he declared, his seductively masculine voice cutting into her wandering thoughts.

Mei Ling mentally shook herself, then forced her attention back to his face as her fingers closed around the folded edge of the bag. The arrogant slant of his mouth told her she’d been caught staring at his package—and not the one in his hand.

“A first for what?” she choked out, that bothersome lump returning in the back of her throat.

“Most aren’t ready to pay ’til we’re finished.”

Confused, Mei Ling blinked a few times. “Finished?”

This time, it was his turn to seem perplexed. “Didn’t ya want special deliver?”

“Well…yes. I did,” she returned with hesitance. “But I don’t—”

“Good. Then let’s get started.” With that, he stepped past her and into the foyer.

Stunned by his boldness, Mei Ling merely stared at him with her mouth hanging open and the bag of food dangling limply from her fingertips. What the hell was going on here? She didn’t invite him in. “Hey,” she protested when he strode past her and headed for the

living room.

“Nice place,” he called back over his shoulder, ignoring her objection. “Ya might want to close the door. I noticed some of your neighbors peerin’ out their blinds. Sure hate for someone to walk in on us.”

Not knowing what else to do, Mei Ling closed the door. “Wait a minute here!” She marched into the living room behind him. “What’s going on? Walk in on us? Doing what? You’re supposed to deliver my order. Right?”

He turned to face her, a boyish smile lighting his tempting lips. Then he reached up with one hand, removed his hat and tossed it onto the ottoman at the foot of her chair. “That’s precisely what I’m doin’.”

His barging into her home uninvited had surprised her. But when his T-shirt followed his hat onto the ottoman, Mei Ling nearly choked on her shock. “I’m afraid there’s been some sort of mistake here,” she gasped, trying not to stare at his nicely formed pectorals.

She certainly had no intention of appreciating the golden mass of curly brown wisps feathered across his chest and washboard abs. Or how a thickened swatch ran downward from his navel to disappear into the waistband of his jeans. And she absolutely refused to acknowledge the interest peaking within herself—the increased heart rate, the needful throb deep within her belly, the dampness in her panties.

As though ignoring her statement, he continued to undress. His boots followed along behind his shirt. Then his socks. He’d was just unzipping his pants when Mei Ling realized if she didn’t intervene, she’d soon have a naked man standing in the middle of her living room.

“Wait! Please. I really don’t understand what’s going on here.” Quickly crossing the room, she darted for the ottoman and his growing pile of clothing. Then she snatched up his shirt and thrust it toward him. “Here, put this back on. You can’t just barge in here and start taking your clothes off. I don’t know if this is some kind of a joke,

but I only ordered…I don’t even know who you are for Pete’s sake!”

He stared at her, long and hard, seemingly trying to figure out if she were playing a game or genuinely confused. “Ya really didn’t know what

special delivery meant when ya ordered it, did ya.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a declaration.

“Apparently not.” A nervous laugh slipped from her lips. “Would you…care to enlighten me?” Mei Ling wasn’t sure where those words had came from, but once they’d left her mouth, she knew there was no taking them back.

He smiled then, a wickedly delicious smile that curled her toes and robbed her breath. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

She could only watch with a strange sense of anticipation as he moved toward her. While his intent was unclear, one thing was for certain, his touch would be hotter than a glowing branding iron, and she’d surely melt like a plastic spoon in a blazing fire if he put his hands on her. When his fingertips brushed the side of her neck, she knew she was about to find out.

To find out more about my books, I can be reached/followed at the following places:

BLURB:Bakery owner Valentine Benington’s day just went from the best of her life to the worst. Toronto Tribune reviewer, David Fraser, shows up for a review just after a fire comes close to destroying her kitchen. After David’s last assignment, which ended with food poisoning, it’s not the best of starts, especially since the job is a last-minute thing. He doesn’t expect to run into a woman from his past. First looks can be deceiving. The food isn’t the only thing on the menu he’d like to taste. When these two get baking, the flames from the oven aren’t the only thing setting the kitchen on fire.

EXCERPT:“Yes, I’m still here,” she replied and covered her mouth with her sleeve trying to breath.

She had to get herself and Sam out of there before it was too late. Just as she moved over to stand up, her phone crashed to the ground, splintering into pieces. The battery slid across the floor and landed somewhere under the sink as the other pieces scattered around her feet.

“Shit,” she groaned.

She wasn’t going to wait for help to arrive and there was no time to run to the front to call them back. Every second that ticked by meant that Sam wasn’t receiving the help he desperately needed. Plus, there was no way to breathe in here. She had to get them outside into the fresh air. They would suffocate if they stayed any longer.

Valentine grasped his arms, lifted them up, and with all the energy she held inside her, she started to pull his unconscious body across the floor toward the back entrance. Sam’s larger statue made it difficult for her and robbed her of energy as she pushed herself and dragged him. The smoke stung her eyes and her airway began to constrict as she felt short of breath. Damn it, she wasn’t going to stop, not now. Valentine inhaled her last breath and pushed through the discomfort and the overwhelming urge to stop. As fast and hard as she could, she shoved her body against the heavy metal door with a thud. Losing her footing, she released Sam and crashed onto the cold, hard ground. Her body hungered for fresh air and she gasped in each breath, filling her oxygen deprived lungs.

Everything happened so fast. One minute she walked into the shop and the next she was battling a fire that was consuming the contents of whatever was in and around the oven. She barely remembered doing anything, let alone dragging Sam out. Adrenaline and instinct kicked in and she got them outside on autopilot.

Forever. How long have I been writing with the goal of publication? Only since 2007. I wrote one murder mystery and actually got as far as a second edit with an agent, when she decided to leave the business (no, I never found out if it was my manuscript that put her over the edge). My first book sold in 2007 and I’ve had one to two books out every year after that. For me, I had no choice: I had to write. Otherwise I’d die. My story then is not an unusual one.

3) What was your first published book? Looking back, is there anything you’d change about it?

Funny you should ask. My first book, Lost in His Arms, is due to be released in print this summer, and I had to reread it for major corrections. While the story is still great, and the romance intriguing, there are stylistically awkward bits I’d love to fix.

Here’s a quick look:

In my first book, Lost in His Arms,Chloe Gray, political writer, and Michael Keller, CIA troubleshooter, meet under curiously conventional circumstances. Despite the instantaneous sparks, they both sense there is more between them than physical attraction. As the dramatic world events of the 1990s in the USSR, the Middle East and Vietnam unfold, their love affair intensifies. Michael appears and disappears at unpredictable moments, leaving her limp and lovelorn. Is he using her or protecting her? In her quest for answers, she is yanked into his dangerous world. Looking for safe harbor, she submits to the advances of a dashing French diplomat. Will she embrace the luxury and comfort of Emile and his chateau or the romance of international intrigue with Michael?

4) What or who has influenced your writing?

I still love the great English writers—Jane Austen in particular. The complex sentence structure and precise description in her novels are the best introduction you can find to the beauties and versatility of the English language. T. S. Eliot added rhythm, Shakespeare humanity, Tolkien, grandeur, and Evelyn Waugh, elegance. Of course Dorothy Parker and Ogden Nash are my idols.

5) Where do you get your ideas?

I have a huge backlog of experiences, settings, and people—I doubt if I’ll ever have to make something up out of whole cloth for the predictable future.

6) What hinders your writing? (distractions? noise?)

All of the above! The worst is music—if anyone within a ten-mile radius is playing something with a lot of bass I feel it and it makes me crazy. Recently I’ve acquired heavy-duty tinnitus in one ear. Imagine trying to write with an eighteen-wheeler driving through your head. Other than that…well, we’ll stop there.

7) What genre are you most comfortable with? What would you like to explore?

I like romantic suspense with some mystery and a dash of humor. My books have developed from fairly simple to more complex plots. I have some children’s stories I’d like to develop for publication; principally, my series of the Adventures of Edward the Fly.

8) Are you a by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of writer or do you have to use an outline to put your collective thoughts into some semblance of common sense?

Both, although I generally ignore the outline until the first draft is written and I realize I’ve incorporated enormous inconsistencies into the plot line.

9) Which of your books is your favorite? Why?

Shhh, they might be listening. Each of my five books is ENTIRELY different from the others, but since my writing has become more fluid with constant practice, I tend to like the latest one best. But I don’t want to influence any of my/your readers—let them be the judge…presumably by reading them all. J

10) Do you incorporate some of yourself into your characters? Personality traits? Likes? Dislikes?

The heroines of my books are much more patient than I am.They can live comfortably on their own for months on end without the need for constant reassurance of their worth. When they love, it’s with both trepidation and passion. Where do these women come from? I create them, but they’re all so much less needy than me, so much more disciplined, self-sufficient, accepting of fate, than me.Of course they’re my ideal, but it must come from somewhere inside me, mustn’t it?At least I hope so.

As to likes/dislikes: Sure! It’s an easy avenue for airing my personal grievances. I try not to put too much politics in a story though—or at least have characters with lots of different viewpoints.

11) What do you think is the perfect hero/heroine? Why?

Oh gee, they’re as varied as…well…people, aren’t they? I like them when they’re decisive and independent and intelligent and creative. A good hero/heroine doesn’t check into the Bates Motel—that’s just irritating. Other than that, I like one that wants to do the right thing.

12) What is your latest release? Please share the blurb and purchase info with us.

My latest release takes place in Old Town Alexandria, an historic cobblestoned city on the Potomac River in Virginia.It follows the adventures of several artists at the Torpedo Factory Art Center. An old munitions factory on the waterfront, the Center lay abandoned after World War II until the 1970s, when an intrepid band of local ladies convinced the city to lease it to them. Today it houses 82 studios, the Art League, the Friends of the Torpedo Factory, and an Archaeology center.

Artful Dodging: The Torpedo Factory Murders

Released April 24, 2012 by Secret Cravings Publishing

65,000 words; M/F; 2 flames; ISBN 978-1-61885-250-2

Romantic Suspense/Murder Mystery

Blurb:

Waiting out the rain, Milo Everhart takes stock of her widowhood and the handsome man standing in the door to the bar.Little does she know she will meet that man again and again under both passionate and terrifying circumstances.

Tristram Brody waits for his date, too conscious of the beautiful woman sitting by the door. Little does he know that she will hate him for trying to destroy her beloved art center, and even suspect him of murder. Nor that she will be drawn inevitably into his arms.

Little does either of them suspect they will be embroiled in not one, but two murders, in which the fate of the Torpedo Factory, an art center housed in an old munitions factory on the waterfront in Old Town Alexandria, will be decided.

I’m glad you asked! Two really fun novels—one, “Love in the Air” is a story within a story of a couple who meet every few years on a plane. Journalists, they become embroiled in all kinds of international crises, from the Iranian revolution to the Lebanese Civil war. Along the way they get to fly in whatever the latest aircraft is available.The second is a murder mystery set in Sarasota, Florida, and involves Russian gangsters, sea turtles, feral pigs and all kinds of other weird stuff. Oh, and romance. Lots of romance. And sex.

14) Do you have any suggestions/comments for prospective authors?

Most poor prospective authors hear the same tired if true bits of advice—edit your manuscript to within an inch of its life; promote, promote, promote, research your target market. It’s more fun to focus on the actual writing, so I’ll offer this one tidbit:

Characters: Do not try to rein them in.Even their names become attached like leeches to your characters. Accept it with grace and concentrate on the only thing you can really control—their looks. But then, that’s the fun part, isn’t it?

FOR FUN:

1) If you could be an animal, what would it be? Why?

Homo sapiens--ain’t nothing better than that!

2) If you could change three things in the world, what would they be? Why?

A) People would listen, actually listen, to the entire argument by someone they disagreed with; B) bucket lists would include something you really don’t think you’d like to do but everyone says you’ll love; C) everyone would be taught to fish so no one need depend on handouts.

3) What would be a perfect date for you?

A picnic dinner next to a large body of water (any kind). Menu: Bollinger champagne, raspberries, caviar with the trimmings, a good baguette and a soft cheese smuggled in from France (unless of course I’m IN France). Maybe a swim in the darkling water under a full moon, and making love.

4) Is there anywhere you’d like to visit? Why?

I’ve been lucky enough to see both the Mona Lisa and the Parthenon unobstructed by crowds, but I’ve never been to Florence. To see Michelangelo’s work up close and personal and a glorious medieval city would be a dream come true.

5) Do you have any obsessions? What are they?

I have pet peeves—do they count? Paying for parking; people with perpetually sour expressions; liars who get away with it; ads for medications that use acronyms rather than the name of the affliction using this smug tone as though it’s cool to have whatever it is and disdaining anyone who doesn’t know what the hell they’re talking about.

My latest release takes place in Old Town Alexandria, an historic cobblestoned city on the Potomac River. It follows the adventures of several artists at the Torpedo Factory Art Center, a hulking warehouse of a place on the waterfront. An old munitions factory, it lay abandoned after World War II until the 1970s, when an intrepid band of biddies got the City of Alexandria to lease it to them for an art center. Today it houses 82 studios, the Art League, the Friends of the Torpedo Factory, and an Archaeology center.

Waiting out the rain, Milo Everhart takes stock of her widowhood and the handsome man standing in the door to the bar.Little does she know she will meet that man again and again under both passionate and terrifying circumstances.

Tristram Brody waits for his date, too conscious of the beautiful woman sitting by the door. Little does he know that she will hate him for trying to destroy her beloved art center, and even suspect him of murder. Nor that she will be drawn inevitably into his arms.

Little does either of them suspect they will be embroiled in not one, but two murders, in which the fate of the Torpedo Factory, an art center housed in an old munitions factory on the waterfront in Old Town Alexandria, will be decided.

EXCERPT: The First Meeting

The bartender backed out past the man, who made no move to get out of his way. Milo frowned. The fellow appeared oblivious to the fact that his position inconvenienced everyone. At first she’d assumed he was waiting out the rain, but his body language said expectant. Every minute or so he’d poke his head out and look up and down King Street.

For lack of anything more exciting to do, she fell to observing him. The top of his head brushed the door jamb, making him about six feet three inches. His bulk didn’t jibe with his height though. She guessed him to weigh in at maybe 175 pounds stripped. He was undeniably her type—lean, trim, tall, clean-shaven—none of that painted-on five-o’clock shadow male celebrities sported nowadays.And old enough for once. Maybe forty?She could only see his profile at the moment, which revealed thick black hair curling over his ears, slices of silver gray relieving the dark waves at the temple, a straight nose, moderately rosy—from drink? Or the cold?—and a forceful chin. Without warning he pivoted and Milo caught the full impact of a deeply masculine face right in the kisser. Whew. Even with the Armani suit, definitely not gay.

He tapped a highly polished Gucci loafer with impatience and pulled out a pocket watch. By this time Milo had dropped all pretence and openly scrutinized her subject. He thrust the watch back in his pocket with a scowl and spun around toward the bar, almost colliding with Tony. He took Milo’s glass from the startled bartender. “Thanks, just what the doctor ordered.”

Milo began to rise in protest. Tony looked at her and the man followed his gaze in surprise. He held up the whiskey. “Er, I take it this isn’t for me?”

Milo tried to come up with a flip response but his rich baritone rattled her. Tony stepped between them. “Yes, Sir, that drink belongs to the lady. May I get you something?”

The man didn’t answer. He stared at Milo more or less the way she was staring at him. Flustered, she plopped back down on the narrow bench, barely avoiding an embarrassing slide to the floor. He continued to stare. She resisted the impulse to pat her short fawn-colored ringlets which always appeared tousled no matter what she did, and blinked. He blinked back. Finally she blurted out, “Would you care to join me?”

He shook his head as though to clear it and replied, “Thank you. Forgive me—I’ve never seen such lovely eyes…I mean, eyes that color…I mean…sorry, what would you call them? Mahogany? Bronze?” His admiring gaze did wonders for Milo’s discomfiture and her mood took a decided uptick.

“I just call them brown. But thank you.”

“I’m sorry about purloining your drink. Can I buy you a freshener in restitution?”

“Okay. Did you want to sit down?”

“I’d better not. I’m waiting for someone.”

“Oh.” His plight, though not unexpected, depressed her. Of course Armani man had a date. He probably always has a date, even during Lent.

Tony brought another glass. The man paid him, then hesitated as though considering. “You know, she is awfully late. Since you’re right in the window seat with a commanding view of the entrance, may I change my mind and sit here until she arrives?”

Ulp. “Not at all.” Good—got that out without stuttering.

“Thanks.” He pulled a low barrel stool next to the bench and clinked her glass. “Cheers.”

They sipped their whiskies in companionable silence. The rain pummeled both the sidewalk and the pedestrians with barely concealed antagonism. Milo decided her heart had settled down sufficiently to ensure a quaver-free sentence. “I’m Milo Everhart.”

Monday, April 30, 2012

“Accept it Tori.” Bane spoke softly. “I hear your thoughts. If you weren’t my true mate, I wouldn’t be able to hear what you’re thinking.”

“You’re my Fire Mate.” He seemed to growl as he entwined his fingers in her hair. She barely winced as he fisted a large amount and jerked her head backwards, baring his neck to him.

“I’m confused. I—don’t understand!”

Releasing her hair, he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the couch. “No need to understand, he spoke huskily. “Feel!” He tossed her onto the sofa and began stripping the clothes from his body.

He reached for her, almost ripping the silk robe off her. Something seemed to push the air from her lungs as she fought to breath. Realizing she was naked as a jaybird, she covered her stomach.

“Oh no you don’t!” Bane snarled. “You need to be restrained,” he suggested in an animalistic voice. “Don’t you ever hide your body from me!”

Before she realized it, a silk sash appeared, tying her hands together. An invisible force soon had her arms above her head. Did she want to stop him? She didn’t recognize her voice as her own.

He gazed at her naked body as he explored her curves. While he explored her thighs, she shuddered. She tried sucking her stomach in when his hand glided over her tummy bulge.

“Don’t do that,” he growled against her ear. He continued the seductive exploration of her body. “By the Dragon gods, you’re so beautiful.

She was shocked. Her body didn’t turn him off? She looked into his eyes, but all she saw was his desire heightening. He lingered at the faint stretch marks. He stroked the areas lovingly, nuzzling against her flesh. She hated her stretch marks, but obviously the man worshipped her body.

Tori’s hips lifted off the couch as he kissed and licked her rounded belly. Pleasure shot through her entire body. “Bane.” She crooned. She watched as her boss continued working his way down her body. She gasped when he reached her spot. Tori almost leapt off the sofa. “Bane!” She heard him growl. Immediately, three words came to mind. Sexy. Hot. Inhuman.

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About Me

I'm an author of erotic romance. My favorite genre is paranormal but I dabble in contemporary and science-fiction as well. I have several short stories available in ebook and audio format, as well as a full-length novel available in print. In addition to writing,